


Till She is in Being

by MostPreciousTreasures



Category: Emma (2020), Emma - Jane Austen
Genre: Affairs, Babies, Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hot Chocolate, Hot Sex, Loss of Virginity, Mutual Pining, Skirting At The Edge of Canon, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wedding Fluff, Weddings, barely canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23573497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostPreciousTreasures/pseuds/MostPreciousTreasures
Summary: There was little else to say after that, for she was woefully and entirely right. He had always dreamed of children, even when he himself was a child. The desire, and it’s intensity, had only grown stronger as he had gotten older. With his parents long dead and his brother married, the only familial comfort Mr. Knightley knew was visiting Emma and Mr. Woodhouse for cards or an evening of quiet reading.
Relationships: George Knightley/Emma Woodhouse, George Knightley/Original Female Character
Comments: 39
Kudos: 597





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All I have done in this time of quarantine is write Emma (2020) fan fiction and bake cakes!

_I should like to see Emma in love, and in some doubt of a return; it would do her good._

\+ +

George Knightley was no stranger to love and being in doubt of a return.

Well - relatively. He did not necessarily consider himself a “man of the world”...but neither was he an innocent. 

It had happened years and years ago - he had been a man of nine and twenty and on a trip to London to visit his brother and sister-in-law. The couple had not yet begun having children, so they were much freer to take him about the city to museums, parks and the like. 

On a trip to the opera one evening, John and Isabella presented him to their friend, Agnes Steele. Mrs. Steele was a widow with no children, having lost her husband two years prior to consumption. She was older, around four and thirty or so, with a curvaceous figure and thick, dark hair. Mr. Knightley was quite taken with her from the moment they were introduced. He found her beautiful and charming, as well as fiercely funny and intelligent. He enjoyed talking to her greatly.

After the initial meeting at the opera, he saw her again at a dinner party a few days later where a plan was made for him, Isabella, and Mrs. Steele to visit an art gallery the next day. She had a great knowledge of art and he liked listening to her discuss the quality of a brushstroke or the history of an artist who had died some tragic, penniless death.

The next week, his last in London, Mrs. Steele held a gathering at her house and invited the Knightleys. John and Isabella had already made dinner plans with a friend of John’s from school and his wife, but they encouraged Mr. Knightley to attend without them.

As the night wore on and the party dwindled and then emptied out all together, Mr. Knightley found himself perched on a settee in an alcove with Mrs. Steele. Her servants had somehow disappeared, either with other duties or out of respect for their mistress. 

Eventually he was led upstairs to Mrs. Steele’s private rooms, quite without intending to. Their affair proceeded for about a year or so, quietly and relatively modestly. He saw her when visiting his family in London, but she never journeyed to Highbury - both agreeing that it would be too hard to hide her visits to the Abbey in a town where the economy seemed to thrive on gossip alone. Isabella remained ignorant of their dalliance while John once slyly caught his brother's eye at a dinner party and made a comment about Mr. Knightley’s new _appreciation_ for the opera.

He was hesitant to bed Mrs. Steele at first, out of respect for her reputation and the possibility of her becoming pregnant out of wedlock. But she quickly assuaged his fears - she had been a wealthy woman before marrying Mr. Steele and had been made only wealthier in his death. She did not fear damage to her reputation or situation. Mrs. Steele also intimated to Mr. Knightley that she and her husband had been trying for years to produce a child before he died. But no matter what they did, she had remained barren or miscarried the few pregnancies she did experience. 

Mr. Knightley at first felt sorrow for the woman upon the realization that she would never bear children - but that sympathy soon vanished once Mrs. Steele showed him just _how_ wondrous the passions of the flesh could be. From her he learned how to please a woman, watching enraptured as she convulsed from pleasure in his arms. Having been a married woman for over ten years, she had much to teach him and he delighted in their couplings. He especially enjoyed gripping the tresses of her hair as he took her from behind.

With Agnes, as he came to call her in private, Mr. Knightley felt himself truly become a man.

One night, as Mr. Knightley laid in bed with Agnes after a particularly vigorous session, he broached the subject of marriage with her. Specifically, if she had given much thought to someday re-marrying.

She sat up at his question, her loose hair falling over her full breasts as she stroked his jaw. Then her hand trailed down his neck to rest upon his chest, right over the rhythmic beating of his heart. She looked down at him, her gaze full of warmth and a gentle pity. 

“You do not want to marry me, George.”

He began to protest but she pressed a light finger to his lips. “I have been a married woman and do not think I shall ever marry again. I enjoy my life and my freedoms as they are. Aside from that, you are not a city gentleman and would hate to live in London.”

“We could -”

“- And I would positively _detest_ the country!,” she laughed.

He took her hand in his, kissing her palm and fingers. “These are but trivial matters, Agnes. I do not wish for you to change your life - I would live wherever you desire.”

“George,” she said, much softer now, “There is another matter that is far from trivial…you know I cannot bear you children. This is a life I know you do not want, no matter how much you may try to deny it. You will make a most loving and patient father someday, _I know it_.”

There was little else to say after that. Though he was heartbroken, she was woefully and entirely right. He had always dreamed of having children, even when he himself was a child. The desire, and it’s intensity, had only grown stronger as he had gotten older. With his parents long dead and his brother married, the only familial comfort Mr. Knightley knew was visiting Emma and Mr. Woodhouse for cards or an evening of quiet reading.

He did not see Agnes in an intimate fashion again, though they remained pleasant and friendly to each other when meeting in London society. Years later, when Mr. Knightley was six and thirty, he learned from John that Agnes had married again. To an older scholarly gentleman, widowed and with three children fully grown. Mr. Knightley was unquestionably happy for her.

He supposed he had once been in love with Agnes. Would have happily married her and moved to London with little care. But as his green youth faded, he came to regard his time with her as a deep infatuation and not real love. For, in actuality, he had never _truly_ known her. He had never uncovered a flaw in her character in their brief meetings, and she had never allowed him to see her at her most vulnerable. 

He had not thought much upon marriage in the years after Agnes, but the news of her nuptials did rekindle a yearning in him he had thought once lost. For so long he had been occupied with the various farms and tenants he oversaw but, within that year and into the next, he began to dream once more. When writing a letter or strolling the grounds he would catch himself imagining two children, a boy and a girl, running through the halls or lying on the rug of the largest picture gallery.

For the longest time these children did not have distinctive features in his imaginings but then one day, quite suddenly, that changed. When Emma began expressing a more intense desire to meet Frank Churchill, the children of Mr. Knightley’s private thoughts grew blond hair. And alone in bed at night, he imagined holding a baby. A baby with wide, hazel eyes…

It seemed his love for Emma had quite snuck up on him - perhaps it had seeded when he watched her hold Little Emma after their quarrel. He had known her all her life and never could he have predicted this. But, upon further examination, Emma was the person he knew most in this world. She was often conceited and stubborn, but there was so much to love about her - her spirit, her imagination, and the gentle care she bestowed upon her father. He saw the insecurities she tried to hide under good manners and charm, such as her quick temper or her intense desire to be seen as accomplished. He had seen her cry many times, mainly in her childhood, and some perverse part of himself wished to see her cry once again so that he may gather her into his arms and whisper soothing words until her cheeks dried. And after their charged dance at the Crown Inn ball, he began having fantasies of her in a most ungentlemanly way. Having lain with a woman in the past, he could now vividly imagine what it might be like to make Emma gasp and writhe underneath him.

He wanted to marry her, have children with her, and let her invite whatever guests she pleased to Donwell. He wanted to watch her brush her hair at night until she caught him with a look of gentle admonishment. His dear, dear friend. He loved her. He _loved_ her. 

\+ +

The party to explore Donwell Abbey was greatly enlivened by the arrival of Frank Chruchill. After promising Emma to come to Box Hill on the morrow, he began an animated conversation with Harriet on the quality and texture of the wall tapestries. Emma then found herself drawn into a group with Mr. and Mrs. Weston and Mr. Knightley. They chatted politely about one sculpture or another until Frank appeared again and somehow carried the Westons away on the strength of his wit and booming voice. Suddenly, for the first time since their brief meeting in the Woodhouses’ courtyard after the ball, Emma found herself entirely alone with Mr. Knightley. 

They had wandered into a cozy corner room with a fireplace and a series of small paintings on the wall. Feeling shy around him since their dance, Emma turned her attention to the oil works. Mr. Knightley shifted around in the background and then came to stand beside her as she pretended to be deeply engaged in the various pretty landscapes adorning the chamber. Eventually she felt him casting glances upon her and she could no longer endure their silence.

“Donwell seems even more handsome than I remembered.”

She turned to grant Mr. Knightley with a small smile and he smiled politely in turn.

“I am glad to hear it.”

Emma turned and walked slowly to take in the rest of the room.

“It is a shame you do not hold more gatherings here.”

Mr. Knightley nodded at her words and clasped his hands behind his back.

“The shame, truly, is that the Abbey does not reside in the possession of a more social man.”

“Perhaps that will change once you are married,” said Emma, hoping her tone conveyed an easy nonchalance instead of trembling anxiety.

He did not respond immediately, but she did feel him draw nearer. His voice was lower and softer when next he spoke to her.

“You believe I am planning for matrimony then.”

Emma turned to face him. “Are you not? You have come to most, if not all, balls and events in recent months. Then you spoke of your intention to one day produce a Mrs. Knightley to wander the Abbey’s halls. And now you have opened up your home in, I can only imagine, an effort to show it off.”

The line of Mr. Knightley’s mouth, which seemed to have resolutely hardened since they played cards at the Westons’, twitched slightly in want of a full smile.

“I do confess that, in recent days, I have been thinking more and more on the idea of there being a Mrs. Knightley in the near future.”

He looked down at the carpet but then raised his eyes to her face a moment later as he drew even nearer.

Emma swallowed. Her mind wandered to thoughts of the Coles’ party and Mrs. Weston making a match between Mr. Knightley and Jane Fairfax. The phantom pianoforte was still unaccounted for and Mr. Knightley _did_ seem to dote on the young woman when in company.

Unaware of Emma’s reverie, Mr. Knightley took yet another step closer. “I have often felt Donwell to be too empty and vast for a bachelor,” he said, “But I know it can fit a family rather nicely - having once been a boy here. Would you not agree, Emma?”

Emma somehow found herself almost pressed against a table. She glanced at the open doorway, longing to escape and avoid the discussion altogether. Her awakening towards Mr. Knightley had come on rather suddenly, and so recently that she had barely begun to parse through its meaning. His arrival at her door the morning after the ball had her hoping that he might return her budding feelings, yet he seemed to have made no attempt to pay her any special attentions since. Perhaps his horse had _actually_ thrown a shoe that day. She had seen him look upon Jane during cards and just today he had offered to escort Harriet to peruse optimal views of the grounds. She couldn’t bear to have him think of her as a friend now and ask her opinion on how to best court other women.

Mr. Knightley gently reached his arm out and placed it beside her hip on the table she leant against, almost as if to steady the article of furniture. He looked at Emma, his blue eyes appearing rather stormy.

“I am sure any woman would be more than fortunate to reside at Donwell,” said Emma, her breath catching.

He studied her for a moment, then glanced down at his hand upon the table. He moved forward slightly and his trousers barely brushed the front of her dress.

“Emma…,” he began to murmur.

Just then the sound of approaching footsteps rose up and Mr. Knightley moved back, his arms drawing once more behind his back. Then Miss Bates and Harriet appeared, gathering Mr. Knightley’s attention with their exclamations upon the wallpaper in the room and the cheerfulness of the decor.

Emma remained close to Harriet for the rest of the day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so much fun writing these that I wanted to do a little more for this one!

_She always declares she will never marry, which, of course, means just nothing at all._

\+ +

Emma Woodhouse - now Emma Knightley - had never given much thought to what her wedding day might look like - having never really given much thought or desire towards being a wife. So when her wedding day finally _did_ arrive, it felt altogether sudden. One moment she was her father’s last remaining child and the next she was beside Mr. Knightley at the altar. But it really did not feel so very strange and new, rather it felt more akin to trading one well-loved coat for one of similar warmth and comfort (if of another style entirely).

With the ceremony done and her veil lifted, Emma returned to her childhood home as a married woman surrounded by friends and family. Everyone remarked upon how lovely she appeared that day, pink-cheeked and healthy, and she could move little about the room without feeling her husband’s heated stare upon her. 

“I once told Mrs. Weston how I loved to look at you,” Mr. Knightley had told Emma rather shyly a few days before their wedding as they walked around Donwell Abbey while Mr. Woodhouse napped in nearby shade. “I find it especially true now and am greatly pleased that I will get to look at you for the rest of my days.”

The wedding breakfast was most cheerful with hot rolls, butter, ham and eggs. The general energy of the event was pleasant and calm though Emma did catch Mr. Knightley gazing at her over his cup of chocolate more than once. When he was caught he only smirked at her before taking her hand and smoothing his thumb over the back of it.

Later he cut her a slice of the bride cake and set it before her, the dried and candied fruits glittering like jewels in the dense cake. She had just picked up her fork to take a bite when Mr. Knightley swiped a quick finger through the cake’s almond and sugar icings while no one was looking. Emma’s mouth opened in surprise and amusement while he stuck the incriminating digit in his mouth and winked at her. Mr. Knightley had become much more playful and lighthearted since their engagement and Emma was delighted that she could be the cause of such a change in him.

After all their guests departed, Mr. Woodhouse retired upstairs for a rest and Emma and Mr. Knightley took a walk about the grounds. If they were to spend many minutes kissing in the greenhouse - nobody was to know save for them. In the early afternoon the newly married couple shared a light meal of cold meats, cheese, fruit, leftover rolls from breakfast and coffee. Then Emma delighted in touring Mr. Knightley around the house to examine the decor and discuss what may need to be added to accommodate their new situation. Mr. Knightley had seen the ground floor of Hartfield many a time, but had never seen the upstairs or the more private rooms.

“Does it need a change of wallpaper, do you think?,” asked Emma as they perused the library.

“Emma,” laughed Mr. Knightley, selecting a book and opening to a page a random, “I do believe you live in the most fashionable of houses in all of Highbury. If you were to change the paint or paper now there would be no styles to exhaust in the future. There is no one to match you in quality and vigor of taste.”

She turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “But does it suit my _husband’s_ tastes?”

He glanced up at her from the book before granting her a small smile. “It suits him very well.”

Mr. Woodhouse reappeared for dinner in the evening and seemed much cheered to now have Mr. Knightley as a permanent presence in the house. The three of them played cards afterwards until Mr. Woodhouse began to make rumblings of desiring a game of chess. Night had finally fallen so Emma excused herself, having grown weary from the long day. She kissed her father goodnight and clasped her husband’s hand, sharing a fond smile with him before parting.

Emma had just begun the climb upstairs when she heard her name called softly and turned to see Mr. Knightley at the bottom step. Emma rushed back down immediately.

“Did something happen to father? Should we send for Perry?”

Mr. Knightley’s eyes widened and he let out a shuddering laugh. “No, no,” he said good-humoredly as he set his hand lightly upon her own that rested on the bannister. “Your father is perfectly well.”

“Oh,” said Emma, relaxing, “Then what is the matter?”

Mr. Knightley glanced down at his hand over hers before taking a step upwards. “I...should like to ask if you would care for me to join you later. If you should want it, that is.”

Emma blinked. She supposed she had assumed that they would share a bed once they were married but in all the excitement of Harriet’s wedding, and then their own wedding and all that went into it - Emma had managed to keep herself busy enough to not dwell too much on that _particular_ part of their impending marriage.

Now though…

“Yes,” said Emma when her husband began to look uneasy at her silence, “Yes of course - I should want it very much.”

He smiled at her words, picking up her hand to kiss her knuckles. His blue eyes sparkled at her when he pulled away. “Until later then.” 

\+ +

Upstairs, Biddy helped her undress and take down her hair. Emma was not naive - she was well aware of what was expected of wives. And of husbands. She recalled part of his section of their vows earlier that day: _With my Body I thee worship_. 

She shivered at the remembrance of his smooth, warm voice speaking those words aloud. How his eyes had darkened on her before he slid the ring upon her hand and they knelt before God and everyone. It was not as if she had entertained _no_ thoughts of what she and Mr. Knightley might do in bed - quite the opposite. She was entirely aware of the beauty of her husband and rejoiced in having won him. But the way Mr. Knightley kissed her...spoke to a knowledge she did not yet possess. While her first attempt at presenting him with a kiss had been dry and chaste, his returning kiss had spoken strongly of desire and intent. She knew he must have kissed a woman before - and perhaps had done more than kiss. 

Emma had settled on the bed in her night shift, ardently pretending to read, when she heard a soft knock at the door.

“Emma?,” asked Mr. Knightley - or _George_ as she should now think of him - voice slightly muffled by the thick wood.

“Come in!,” she chirped, trying to tamp down the nervous feeling that had started in her belly.

He entered the room dressed now in his nightshirt - she had never seen him so exposed. She sat up higher upon the bed, watching him as he set down his candle and began to wash his face at the basin in the corner.

“You have been with a woman before.” 

George stilled at her statement. Then he turned to her as he dried his face, eyes slightly wary.

“Yes,” he said simply.

She nodded, adjusting the material of her night shift over her knees. “I am glad of it.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her and came closer to lean against one of the posters of her - _their_ \- bed.

“Are you?”

“Indeed,” she said, blushing lightly as she gazed upon the section of hairy chest that his shirt revealed. “You will know what to do - to make it enjoyable.

She heard the soft rustling of the bed clothes as he knelt one knee at the edge of the mattress to reach for her. She came most willingly into his arms, allowing him to kiss her brow and smooth back her hair.

“I will do whatever you want - whatever you ask,” he whispered into her soft ear. “I am _yours_ , Emma. Till death us do part. I will do my very best to never cause you pain in any way. Do you understand?”

She nodded against his neck, her eyes damp with love and gratitude. Then she kissed him, tilting his chin down to reach her mouth. He sighed into her and his hands moved to caress her body through the thin material of her shift. Soon their kisses grew more heated and he slipped one hand under her hair to grip the back of her neck as they melted into each other.

“Will you tell me about it...being with another woman?,” she whispered as he moved his feverish kisses to her neck.

“Yes,” he said against the hollow of her throat before pulling back. “But not tonight.”

Then, quite boldly, he drew his nightshirt off and stood before her entirely naked.

She barely had time to run a tentative hand down his bare chest because in the next moment he was upon the bed and slotting between her legs. He kissed her hard and she returned his passion as she raked her fingers through his hair.

He helped her remove her shift and then sat back to take in the sight of her spread out on the bed.

“So very beautiful,” he murmured, dragging a hand through the valley of her breasts and coming to rest on her stomach. His other hand spread one of her thighs wider and then he was touching the very center of her.

“George…,” she whimpered.

True to her words, he did indeed know what to do. He quickly found the most sensitive part of her that she had barely explored on her own and began to rub it lightly.

“Yes, that’s it,” he said raggedly as she rocked her hips in response to his touch and cried out in ecstacy.

In no time at all he brought her to the sharpest peak of pleasure and she shattered with several loud moans. She gripped his arm to still his fingers as she continued to cry for him.

He watched her tenderly as she lay gasping atop the blankets and then lowered himself to kiss her face and whisper in her ear how much he loved her.

She pulled his mouth down to hers again. “Don’t stop,” she pleaded.

He nodded, then gently turned her over and drew her back against his front. He kissed her neck and her cheek. “Tell me if you don’t like it,” he murmured before dragging his hand along the curves of her body and sloping down over her waist to reach between her legs.

“Oh…,” she exhaled as he parted her. He rubbed her lightly for a bit, then he slowly slid two of his fingers inside her. She whined as he did it, turning her head to see him watching her hungrily with parted lips. She ground against his fingers and felt a delicious ache bloom inside herself. He kissed her neck, tasting her skin.

“Please George...more.” 

She reached down to wrap a clumsy hand around his cock and he groaned roughly. He drew his fingers out of her but kept her back pressed against him with one arm around her waist. He helped her spread her legs a little more and then he was inside her - he had made her so wet that she barely noticed the twinge of pain as he filled her. He sighed into her neck and gripped her hip to take her even deeper as she cried out.

“Yes my darling,” he sighed as she began to grind against him, both of them panting and moaning at the friction between them.

One of his hands found its way to her center again while the other wrapped loosely around the front of her neck. They rocked together, with him moving her roughly against his lap, until his fingers brought Emma to orgasm again and she stilled. Then she was crying loudly, her cunt gripping him as exquisite pleasure rushed throughout her whole body. He felt it happen and grit out a curse - then he was following her fast and held her down to stay deep inside her as he came.

Emma slumped against her husband, both of them breathing deeply. He ran his hands over her thighs and breasts before slowly pulling out of her. She fell back on the bed with a contented sigh while he got up to wash briefly. When he came back he smiled down at her. “You look lovely this way,” he said.

“Flushed and disheveled?”

“As my wife,” he smirked. 

She laughed incredulously and held her arms out for him. He settled over her gently and cradled her upper back and neck in his arms. He gazed down at her with something like wistfulness in his eyes.

She reached up to slip her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck. “What is it?,” she asked softly.

“Mrs. Knightley,” he said, with deep tenderness, “I do believe I have been waiting for you for quite some time.”

“Here I am - fully in being,” she whispered as he stroked her cheek like she was made of the finest porcelain.

“Here you are,” he murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Regency Era Weddings](https://www.janeausten.co.uk/weddings-during-the-regency-era/)
> 
> [Regency Era Vows](http://vanessariley.com/blog/tag/wedding-vows/)
> 
> [Bride Cake and Regency Era Wedding Food](https://www.janeausten.co.uk/tag/georgian-regency-wedding-cake/)


	3. Chapter 3

_If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more._

\+ +

Emma became pregnant less than four months into their marriage. It was not so surprising, as their need for each other had been feverish and near-constant. George could not look upon his wife without wanting her. 

The new couple shared the joyful news with Mr. Woodhouse, but decided to wait a little longer to announce it to the rest of their friends and acquaintances. George hated leaving his wife in the first few months of her pregnancy, especially when she was sick and miserable in the mornings. He thought of her all day and was only cheered when he could return to Hartfield to spend a quiet night together discussing potential names. They decided on Edward if it was a boy, being George’s father’s name, and Catherine if a girl, after Emma’s mother.

One day in the late autumn, with a chill in the air that signaled winter was nearly upon them, George Knightley arrived home after a long day spent making sure everything was in place for the growing season and that all his farms were prepared for any oncoming snow. He was dearly looking forward to eating a hot meal and sitting with Emma beside the fire, but as soon as he stepped through the door George knew something was very wrong. Several of the servants were huddled near the stairs and looking quite stricken.

“What is the matter?,” asked George as Charles and Bartholomew took his hat and coat. Bartholomew swallowed, unable to get a word out. Then, mercifully, Biddy stepped forward. 

“Sir...it is Mrs. Knightley. She has fallen ill.”

As soon as he heard those grave words, George was bounding up the stairs and rushing to the floor he shared with Emma. Finally reaching their room, and without bothering to knock, he opened the door quickly to reveal his wife propped up in bed. Her hair was loose and she was dressed in her shift and night jacket. Someone had taken pains to make her especially comfortable, for she was tucked in with many pillows and numerous warm blankets. Her father sat in an armchair beside her and George spotted Mr. Perry in the corner packing up his doctor’s bag. Everyone looked up upon George’s abrupt entrance.

“George!,” cried Emma, sitting up a little higher in her soft enclosure.

He looked wildly at his wife and then turned to Mr. Perry. “What has happened?”

Mr. Perry shared a brief look with Mr. Woodhouse before leading Mr. Knightley out of the room and quietly shutting the door.

“What is the matter? Will she be alright?”

“Mr. Knightley,” said Mr. Perry with deep kindness, “I am afraid that your wife has miscarried.”

George jerked back, his eyes wide. “Miscarried?”

“Yes, she has lost the baby. Aside from this, Mrs. Knightley is very well and in good health. I know this must come as a most terrible shock, but it is not uncommon for women to miscarry and then bear children later on. I would not worry too greatly.”

George had looked down while taking in the doctor’s words, nodding his head in comprehension. “May I speak with her?”

“Of course.”

The two men returned to the room and Mr. Perry collected his bag. Mr. Woodhouse rose from Emma’s side and made to follow the doctor, patting his son-in-law’s shoulder gently before leaving. George noted that, seemingly for the first time since he had known the man, Mr. Woodhouse did not seem concerned by the situation at hand.

As soon as the door was shut, George rushed to the bed and clasped his wife’s hand. “Emma...Emma darling,” he said as his other hand moved frantically to pet her hair and caress her face. He sat beside her on the mattress so that he could be closer to her. She looked pale but oddly calm.

“Why was I not called?”

Emma smiled lightly. “I asked them not to send for you.”

“You had no right to. I would have come here the second I heard - I would have done everything in my power to be here with you.”

His wife sighed and leaned her head back against her mountain of pillows. “I did not want that George. I did not want to worry you. Father revealed to me that Mother had several miscarriages before _and_ after my sister and I were born,” she laughed ruefully, “Surprising I know - what with Isabella’s ever-growing horde, you would imagine all the women in our family to be especially fruitful.”

George gathered up her left hand, where the ring that represented their union resided, and kissed it fervently. “My dearest, I -”

But Emma was quick to interrupt. “I am completely well, I promise you. I am only saddened by the idea that you may be disappointed,” she said sheepishly.

He looked upon her in shock then. “Emma, in my whole life married to you, and let us hope it is a long one, I could never be disappointed. I am already the most fortunate of men.”

Emma blushed as he brought both his hands to her cheeks. “Perhaps, in a way, this is for the best. Maybe I was not ready to be a mother so soon.”

“When the time is right, it will happen again. Mr. Perry has assured me of that.”

George let his wife sleep for a few hours and retired to the drawing room. He attempted a game of whist with Mr. Woodhouse, but soon found himself too anxious to focus on any one pursuit. He eventually settled on wandering the house in a loop, which proved to be the necessary balm to soothe his frayed nerves - though he did also succeed in making the servants quite nervous. Later on he brought a light meal up to Emma and watched her closely as she ate her fill of a bowl of soup.

She caught his eye and the intensity of his gaze made her break into a smile. “George,” she laughed, “Please change out of your clothes and come to bed. I am not in need of a nurse to watch my every move - but I am in great need of a husband to hold me.”

\+ +

Emma became pregnant again only a few months later. They were a little more cautious this time and kept it from Mr. Woodhouse as long as they could. They no longer discussed baby names, but Emma had begun to spend small moments of her day looking at wallpaper and fabric samples for the nursery. She told George she would not decide on anything related to the child until she was noticeably round.

Unfortunately, the couple was to be disappointed once more - Emma miscarried again. George was there when it happened this time, for they had been lying in bed while he read quietly aloud to her. Suddenly, she had clutched his arm tightly and he looked down to see that her face was white. “George...,” she had whispered, her beautiful eyes wide in fear. “The baby.” 

Mr. Perry had been sent for immediately, but there was nothing to be done. As George paced the hallway outside their room while the doctor attended to Emma, he recalled something Agnes Steele had once said to him. _George_ , she had told him in her kind, knowing way, _This is a life I know you do not want, no matter how much you may try to deny it._ This remembrance made him briefly terrified. Would his life with Emma be enough for him, if they could not conceive? He shook those shameful thoughts away almost immediately. Emma was everything he had ever hoped for and more - if the only thing that ever came out of their union was the great love between them, then he would never consider his life a wasted one.

Emma was once again very stately and graceful about the whole affair. He tried to engage her on the subject but she did not like to speak much about it, turning instead to focus more and more on her friendships and various tasks related to their home. George was proud of his wife for her composure - if he were the woman he thought it highly unlikely that he could have borne it half as well as she did.

One evening, the couple was to attend a dinner at the Weston’s but Emma declared a headache and decided not to go. George offered to send for Perry, but she insisted that she just needed to go to bed early. He disliked the idea of leaving her in such a state, but he dutifully kissed his wife goodbye in the drawing room as she attended to some embroidery. She did seem a little low-spirited, but altogether quite well.

George returned from the dinner rather late and expected to find Emma in bed, fast asleep. Instead, when he entered their room, he found her perched in the window seat in her night shift and sobbing uncontrollably.

He rushed to her side. “My love…,” he murmured as he tried to smooth back her hair.

She only cried harder and shrugged him off, burying her face in her hands. George sat down next to her on the window seat. He did not try to touch her again. “I am not leaving, Emma,” he said softly.

She continued to cry for a long while - heaving sobs that shuddered through her whole body. George hated to see his beloved in such exquisite pain. A pain, he imagined, he could never fully comprehend as a man. He waited patiently until she had quieted down and seemed to run out of tears. 

“May I put you to bed?,” he asked. She nodded, looking not at him but out the window at the night sky. Then he took her gently into his arms and brought her to their bed. She fell asleep quickly after that and George spent quite a while just gazing upon her, unable to sleep for a long time.

The next morning Emma seemed very much herself. George worried about spending the whole day away from her after such an unsettling night, but she declared that she would be perfectly fine. Nevertheless, he decided to make quick work of his responsibilities and return home much earlier than he normally did. He hoped that he would be able to have a private moment with Emma and coax her to open up to him about the sorrow she was feeling. 

George stopped into town before returning to Hartfield, wanting to call upon the Bates family. A visit with the two women was always good for lifting his spirits. When he returned home, he found Mr. Woodhouse behind his screens in the drawing room.

“Mr. Knightley! Why, you are home _quite_ early.”

George nodded and smiled. “Will Emma be down soon?”

“Oh, she is not here,” said Mr. Woodhouse, returning to his book, “She has gone to visit Mrs. and Miss Bates for the afternoon.”

George furrowed his brow. That was impossible - he had just been with them and they had made no mention of Emma having visited or planning to visit that day. It was plausible that she had left Hartfield before he arrived, but surely he would have met her on the road if that were so.

“Sir,” said George, clearing his throat, “I have just recalled something I must attend to. I shall return by dinner.”

“Oh yes, yes of course.”

George looked for Emma all over the property. She was not in the greenhouse, nor did she seem to be strolling the grounds. He even ventured to the horse chestnut tree in search of his wife, and felt entirely silly for doing so while standing under its bare branches. Deciding she was hiding nowhere on the grounds, he began to mentally list other places she may have gone to. She wouldn’t lie about a walk into town or a visit to Ford’s, so that was ruled out. And if she had told her Father that she was visiting friends and _had_ lied about that, then she would most likely not be found with Mrs. Martin or at the Weston’s. She had to be somewhere she could safely and freely travel to on her own - though it appeared to be somewhere far enough away for her to have taken the carriage. And, judging by her deception, it had to be somewhere where it was possible for her to be almost entirely _alone_.

Then, quite suddenly, George knew exactly where she was.

\+ +

Emma was gazing out a bank of windows when he came upon her at Donwell Abbey.

She stirred a little when he entered the room, but did not turn completely to face him. He drew near to her and stood silently beside her for a moment.

“When I imagined a Mrs. Knightley,” he began eventually, “I always saw her inviting friends and various guests to Donwell - not using it for solitary reflection. Though I suppose that _is_ what the building was originally intended for.”

She smiled a little at that and George felt slightly relieved at the sight.

“Did you very often imagine her?”

“Off and on,” he said easily, “She never really had a specific face or figure. Though I must now acknowledge that the general air of her was most likely your unconscious impression in my mind and in my heart.”

She turned to him then, though she could not quite meet his eyes. “I am ashamed, George.”

He came closer in order to take her hands in his. “Whatever for?”

“I have failed in my most basic duty as a wife - twice over.” A single tear tracked down her cheek.

George could no longer bear it and drew her fully into his arms, kissing her forehead softly.

“Is that what is still troubling you - that I may be disappointed?,” he asked into her hair.

She nodded against his chest. “You could have had your pick of women - plenty of whom would have been far better wives.”

He took her face firmly in his hands and tilted it up so that she would see the seriousness in his expression. “Emma,” he said with such deep feeling it was almost harsh, “There is no better woman - no better wife - than the one that stands before me. I do not love you for your beauty nor your money nor your ability to bear me children. It is _you_ I love - your very spirit. My heart has long been given to you. I do not wish for it back.”

“You once told me, not so long ago, that you could not make speeches,” Emma laughed as he wiped away her tears, “But _that_ was more than passable.”

He huffed a laugh in reply. “Perhaps I have been working on it all these years, piece by piece. Do not ask me to do such a task again - I may not have the fortitude for quite some time.”

She kissed him then. He smiled against her lips when they broke apart. “Shall we go home?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time it is Emma who has trouble being honest with Knightley because she loves him so much!
> 
> Additionally, I have been reading "The Annotated Emma" and I learned from it that during the 16th century many monasteries and convents were sold away. Rich families bought them, but often retained their original names. This is why Donwell Abbey is called this - most likely Mr. Knightley's ancestors bought the building during the English Reformation but kept the Abbey's name. I nodded to this with his comment about the house being originally used for "solitary reflection."
> 
> [The Annotated Emma](https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/164892/the-annotated-emma-by-jane-austen-annotations-by-david-m-shapard/)


	4. Chapter 4

_My dearest Emma, for dearest you will always be._

\+ +

George Knightley shouldn’t have been so surprised that Emma would be a good mother - yet he still managed to be surprised by _just_ how excellent of a mother she actually turned out to be.

After a year of both pleasure and pain - the bliss of being newly married, the agony of Emma’s miscarriages - they were finally blessed with a child. A sweet baby girl with blonde hair and wide hazel eyes - exactly the sort of child George had always imagined when he was first becoming aware of his affections for Emma. He loved to hold little Cathy and walk with her around the grounds of Hartfield and Donwell, pointing out sheep and teaching her about various plants and trees. When the weather was nice, he and Emma often liked to take their meals with her outside though it always greatly distressed Mr. Woodhouse. One summer afternoon as the family had a picnic near the horse chestnut tree, George took the opportunity to educate his daughter about her parents.

“Cathy,” said George as the 8-month-old playfully reached for a handful of the flowering tree’s leaves, “I asked your mother to marry me here. She said _no_ \- and then began to bleed all over me.”

Emma rolled her eyes, for his stage-whispered remarks were solely for her benefit. “A fine tale indeed.”

George smiled and brought Cathy back to the blanket where Emma had spread out their dinner, “Is that not what occurred?”

“That is indeed what occurred,” replied Emma as she opened a tin of biscuits, “But I hope I am not to _always_ be portrayed as the villain in the stories you tell our children.”

“No my love,” said George tenderly, watching as Cathy crawled into Emma’s lap, “I expect you shall often be the hero.”

He was right of course - Emma was beloved and revered by their offspring. In addition to Cathy, they were granted a boy a few years later. His birth was considered something of a miracle, for Emma was convinced they would not be blessed more than once after that dreadful year of disappointments. But Edward arrived all the same - with a shock of dark hair and George’s vivid blue eyes.

“Dangerous eyes,” Emma had proclaimed them one evening. “Eyes with the ability to break a thousand hearts.”

George had snorted heartily at her words. “If he is anything like his father, I can assure you that all one thousand of those hearts are _quite_ safe.”

Emma hummed lightly as she stroked Edward’s hair as he slept in her lap. “In my experience, yearning for the love of a good man can be more devastating than yearning after the love of a bad one.”

George called Biddy in after Emma uttered such a sentence - for someone needed to mind the children while he took his wife upstairs and ravished her in the way a good man could be prevailed upon to do, when necessary.

  
  


With their son’s birth, a small part of George hoped that he would finally be the favored parent. Though he did prove to be “ _a most loving and patient father_ ” - just as Agnes Steele had predicted - he really was no match for Emma’s boundless energy and imagination. He had been somewhat in the habit of dreaming that he and Edward, with their sex in common, would be able to form a special bond. And indeed they got along famously, George was lucky to have a close relationship with both of his children, but it was nothing like the magic Emma was able to weave. Her enthusiasm for manipulating the lives of others was converted easily into the care and raising of her own children. She could spend hours thinking up elaborate scenarios for Cathy’s dolls and taught both children how to draw so that they could create elaborate treasure maps for the grounds of Donwell. Sometimes, if he was very lucky, George would come upon his wife lying on the rug of the Abbey's portrait gallery with their two children as they took in the room’s paintings. It was a scene that warmed his heart like no other.

It became most amusing to George that he was considered the “stern” parent and Emma the lighthearted, indulgent one. There were many days wherein he would return home in the evening and enter the nursery to greet his children, only to be immediately shooed away.

“Papa!,” six-year-old Cathy would cry when she spotted her father, “Come back later! Mama just got to the most thrilling part in the story!” Four-year-old Edward would nod in agreement, thumb firmly planted in his mouth. George would only share an amused look with his wife and then shut the door softly on his way out.

When the children were a little older, Robert Martin built them a wooden structure in one of the trees at Hartfield. They spent many an hour reading or playing with Harriet and Robert’s son Thomas up in the leafy branches.

One afternoon, George went looking for Emma and was unable to find her. Eventually he approached Mr. Woodhouse, saying “I believe I have misplaced my wife.”

Mr. Woodhouse looked up from his book. “Oh - she is outside. With the children. I told her not to let them play in the tree, but she will not listen.”

George nodded at his father-in-law, then turned away quickly to hide his smirk. He ventured out into the garden and there, in the distance, he spotted his wife at the tree fort with Cathy and Edward. As he got closer he could see that they had rigged up a makeshift sail and Cathy had lined up a number of her dolls for Edward to gleefully push out of the tree with the tip of a wooden sword. 

Emma turned to George when he was only a few feet away, giving him the opportunity to fully take in her attire. She wore one of his black formal tailcoats over her gown and a bicorne hat upon her head. He smiled fully when he saw the charcoal painted on her face to form a goatee and mustache.

“Very dashing,” praised George as she came over to him, “I dare say you make a very good-looking gentleman.”

Emma gave him a devilish smile. “Oh I am no mere gentleman, sir, I can assure you that.”

“Should I address you as Commodore Knightley then?”

“Oh no,” replied Emma as she looked back at the tree to where their children were continuing to force Cathy’s dolls off the imaginary plank, “I am but a Second Lieutenant - though I do occasionally fulfill a role of another kind.” She pulled an eyepatch out of the pocket of his borrowed coat and dangled it before his eyes.

George laughed. “Ah. I suspect, good sir, that you are a roguish pirate king.”

“Yes!,” said Emma, her eyes twinkling, “And I was about to board their ship in the hopes of rescuing my brethren that they are so cruelly tossing to the waves and rocks below. Should you care to join me?”

“I would indeed,” smirked George as he took the eyepatch from her. “There is no other Captain I would prefer to serve under.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Bicorne Hat](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bicorne)

**Author's Note:**

> I definitely think the George Knightley in the new Emma movie is a George Knightley who fucks - so I began to imagine how that might have come about. I didn't think he was the type of man to frequent brothels, so I developed this backstory instead.


End file.
